For Blue Skies
by Hurricane Amy
Summary: Could I have saved you? Would that have betrayed you? One-shot. Deals with Michelle's suicide and Amelia's experience of losing a best friend while exploring some of their relationship.


**A/N: **I really wanted to do something for Michelle because I felt like she was never really touched upon after her suicide occurred and sparred Amelia's relapse. A couple of scenes have been transcribed from the show (episode 5x05: Step One) for continuity and they are not my intellectual property. This is entirely rooted in canon events and aims to expand on their backstory/friendship, as well as Amelia's experience. I hope you enjoy!

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**For Blue Skies**

_ Could I have saved you?_  
_ Would that have betrayed you?_  
_ I want to burn this film;_  
_ You alone with those pills._  
_ What you couldn't do, I will._  
_ [ _**_I forgive you._**_ ]_

It started out with a pill. One pill, one boy, one party, and an icy fear that had long-since made its home in her chest for the pain Amelia had never shared. The pill a long-sought cure for the loss of a father — shot and killed before her soft cerulean eyes before he could blow up the balloons for her sixth birthday — and the gaping hole it had left upon her life.

It ended with a pill. One pill too many for the girl who had grown up too quickly caring for a sickly mother, determined not to relive her fate. Michelle's cure to last eternity for a life too short, and the destruction of a best friend who came home just a little too late. The first in a string, sparring a pit of self-destruction for the survivor.

Amelia Shepherd never put much stock into the notion of best friends. In fact, she thought the whole idea was kind of stupid. One person with whom you would trust your secrets, your feelings, your inner-most thoughts — one person on whom you would depend for so much. It seemed foolish, knowing how quickly life could change; how quickly one could disappear. She had friends — a lot of friends; friends she cared about, or even who she loved — but never a best friend. Not until she met Michelle.

Their connection was far from instantaneous. In fact, quite the opposite. For their senior year of high school, the girls barely spoke a single phrase to each other, and in all honesty, Amelia couldn't place blame on the other girl for this. She was a wreck — the days of Hurricane Amy at their height. The two were almost polar opposites as far as they were concerned, and had the youngest Shepherd been unable to be resuscitated the night of her overdose, no doubt the other would only have nodded about the tragedy of someone so young dying that way but bothering herself little with any kind of grief. If the story had ended there, perhaps Michelle's own story would have been written quite differently — or maybe it was predetermined from birth — but no matter what, the pain it caused was irreparable, and the neurosurgeon best friend would always wonder if, even in some small way, what happened was truly her fault to bear.

As it was, Michelle and Amelia ran into each other in university, only a few short months after the latter had checked out of rehab ready for a fresh start, but utterly terrified in her loneliness. The pain of dying and coming back again would never fully leave her in peace, yet it kept her going; the newly discovered understanding that for her, living sad was, indeed, better than dying happy. Pills and highs were little compared to what she could achieve in stability, so she drowned herself in books to better herself, to find meaning and hope.

For Michelle, however, books were an escape. She spent hours in the library, pouring over literature if only to forget for a moment about the dying mother for whom she cared; to forget the responsibility a girl of eighteen should never have had to bear. For her, it had been that way almost as long as she could remember, as her parent fell through a steady, then rapid decline, and she was certain the end was coming for her — both blessing and curse wrapped up into one.

It was only fitting, then, that they should find one another in the tables between rows of shelves, one reading Stephen King, the other reading essays on cytogenetical research, neither bothering for hours to look up at who sat only feet away. It was Michelle who broke concentration first, having finished the novel in which she was engrossed and deciding between setting off in search of another and going back home. Her eyes locked on the woman before her, narrowing in with an arch of a lone eyebrow.

"Amy?"

Brunette hair bounced as Amelia lifted her head, startled at the sound of her name. She blinked a few times, trying and failing to remember the other girl's name. Her lips pursed and she blew out a heavy sigh at her inept memory. Quickly, she plastered a smile to her face. "Hey…_there_."

"Michelle." It was said with a cynical laugh, but she couldn't help being curious why the girl known for partying with the worst of the boys at their school would be here on a Saturday. If nothing else, she now had an excuse for staying out longer.

"Right. Sorry, I— High school is kind of a blur for me. It's, um— It's good to see you."

"Yeah, you too. You look…different."

Amelia nodded, her eyes shifting uncomfortably down at the papers in her lap. "I am. I'm different."

"Good, because from what I remember, you were kind of a wreck. A huge hot mess."

A chuckle sputtered from between softly painted lips. "Well that's very kind of you."

"Sorry, but who in the school _didn't_ know Hurricane Amy Shepherd? You had kind of a reputation, you know. The wild child. I think even the teachers feared you."

"Don't remind me. I'm kind of over the 'Hurricane' part. I'm trying to be just 'Amelia' now."

Michelle plopped her chin down into her palms, eyeing her former classmate with a slight nod. "Okay, 'Just Amelia,' what are you reading?"

She cocked her head to the side, admittedly shocked at the lack of questioning, and still thankful at the same time. Nothing had grated more on her nerves than incessant nagging about her feelings by family and strangers alike — she didn't have many friends anymore. It took her a breath before an answer would come, but when it did, a decidedly nerdy grin came with it as she held up the cover and explained her research while the other girl feigned a smile.

"Wow. That sounds…_incredibly_ boring."

Amelia smirked, playfully rolling her eyes. "Okay, what are you reading, hotshot?"

"Stephen King. _The Green Mile_. Just finished, actually."

"Stephen King, huh? So basically I'm reading about saving people and you're all about serial killings?"

"Basically, yes. That sounds like some sort of metaphor for something, doesn't it?"

"Sounds more like one of us has our priorities in order and it's not the one you'd think."

"Oh, yeah, it's definitely me. Girl, do you even know how to have fun anymore?"

"Shut up. I'm fun." Amelia chuckled, running her fingers back through her hair. In all truth, she wasn't entirely sold on that lately. She wondered if perhaps the drugs had been all that had given her any kind of interest and the idea terrified her. She had scarcely an idea who she was anymore as it was, and she could hardly allow herself to focus on anything beyond her newest goal of becoming a neurosurgeon.

"Oh yeah," Michelle grinned. "Real fun. Spending your Saturday evening in a library."

She raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Isn't that kind of like the pot calling the kettle 'black'?"

"Hey, I never claimed to be fun — just more fun than you, apparently."

"So in other words, we're both pathetic?"

"Apparently." Michelle frowned, twisting a curled lock of inky hair around her index finger. "We're in college. Doesn't that mean we're supposed to be out there having new experiences and tearing up the town? Instead we're locked in here like we've already given up."

The smaller girl opened her mouth to protest, but instead shrugged in defeated agreement. "Yeah, 'Just Amelia' _has_ gotten kind of boring, I guess."

"Well, 'Just Michelle' has always been boring." A sigh filled the paused between thoughts as both girls frowned, gazes shifting uncomfortably. "Well, how about we change that. You and me just hit the town and go kind of crazy."

"I don't know. I don't really— I've had more than my share of crazy. I don't really do the party-thing anymore. At least not where they might have anything that might get me drunk or high."

A nod was her response, followed by a grimace. "Yeah, parties have never really been my thing, anyway. Maybe I _am_ the boring one."

"I'd say right now, we're probably about equal there. How about we just be boring together instead? My roommate practically lives off ice cream, but she's almost never home, so you could come over and we'll rent a couple movies and eat junk food and redefine 'fun'?"

Dark eyes lit up at the thought, but quickly fell as realization dawned upon her. "I can't."

"Oh. I—"

"No, it's just—I have to go back home. I have to— My mom is sick, so I've got to look after her."

Amelia pursed her lips, shooting her best sympathetic look toward her table-mate. "Rain check?"

"Definitely."

The two parted ways soon after, the idea of a rain check soon forgotten, and it would be weeks before they met again by chance in the hallway between classes. Michelle making her way between Intro to Theory of Literature and Ethics of Journalism, while her counterpart traveled from first year Biology to an elective in Philosophies of the Middle Ages. The latter, of course, being far less interesting so she regretted ever signing up. They crashed into one another as neither bothered to look where she was headed, and muttered apologies before recognition would hit. It was then they greeted one another and exchanged numbers so from there, friendship could blossom.

It seemed to both that the progression from stranger to best friend should have taken more time or energy, but instead it happened almost entirely at once leaving neither entirely knowing how or why they had become so taken with the other. It could have been loneliness on either part — a desperate longing for company who wouldn't judge or leave when things got hard, or it could have been simply that they had too much in common from their favorite guilty pleasures of 90's pop music to their lost childhoods. Maybe it was just that destiny had pulled them together at the right time when both would need a friend; Amelia in her recovery and Michelle though her mother's final days. But they were there for each other through long phone calls and marathons of terrible films; through gallons of rocky road ice cream and long cramming sessions before finals. In the fluorescent lights of tear-filled N.A. meetings and the ironic sunshine over freshly-dug graves, each clung to the hand of the other, so everything would seem just a little less terrifying.

Their duties were more than those of just regular friends, providing each other with a sense of normalcy and stability, teaching one another how to laugh again through the worst of times. Michelle could keep Amelia grounded when she thought the world might fall out from beneath her while the reverse was true for herself as the would-be neurosurgeon could give her an escape when she needed it most and hope that one could recover from devastation. They balanced each other out and complimented one another so easily that all reservations of letting someone in seemed discarded without care and neither bothered to care.

Over the span of their university lives, they eventually branched out finding boyfriends and other friends with whom they could spend their time, but on their darkest nights or even simple times of boredom, they remained each other's first call. Many a night was spent cuddled together on the couch snickering secrets like school girls or one falling asleep on the other's shoulder as they marathoned rented films into the wee hours of the mornings.

There was no need for jealousy or insecurity because their connection was unmatched — a soulmate in the form of a friend. This is perhaps why it became so bittersweet after graduation as Amelia moved to Baltimore for medical school, while Michelle found herself in Chicago as she pursued her own career in journalism. Occupying the same city at once became a rarity for the women; visits becoming shorter and phone calls less frequent. Still, when they met again, it would be as if nothing had changed and old habits were easy to find. After all, they would always be the loudest voice in the crowd cheering on the other through her successes. Although in many ways, they had grown apart, never a week would pass without update — hefty emails or impossibly long phone calls — and they remained the first to know when big events would arise.

As with everything, however, there came the inevitable downfall. It wasn't planned nor chosen by either woman, but rather forced upon them by the cruelty of genetics as Michelle's test returned positive for Huntington's, so she, too, would be cursed with her mother's fate. Amelia was never a particularly religious girl, but she had always believed in _something_ and she prayed for her friend. She pleaded for her to be spared for as long as she could remember knowing her, and though she normally placed little stock in faith, she found hers shattered for the first time with the discovery.

The diagnosis was a death sentence in more ways that one, for it brought with it a promise of suicide that seemed unable or unwilling to be revoked. Desperately, Amelia begged for her life, speeches of rocky road ice cream and the feeling of wind through tousled hair in a top-down vehicle. She reminded her of all the good the other woman had helped her to find, and it worked, but for a price: a promise that she would help her to kill herself another day.

Amelia hadn't seen it coming. In her mind, they had more time. Only six months seemed hardly enough and a cold terror crawled into the pit of her stomach to claim as its new home. She could rationalize it all she wanted. Michelle would die anyway. She was saving her from a life of perpetual deterioration, pain, and misery. She was helping. But rationalization held close to nothing. The determination in dark eyes mixed with a tainted resolve to live up to her word and mistakes couldn't be taken back no matter how hard she tried.

The sick woman laid across the couch, resisting tremors as tears burned the corners of her eyes. Beside her, the woman she trusted most in the world collected supplies, willing her own sobs to dissipate. She explained through heavy breaths the sequence of drugs that would provide as painless a release as possible so they might make it appear as if it was a simple overdose.

"I love you," Amelia sniffed. "If you see my dad, you tell him I said hi, okay?"

"Maybe I'll fix him up with my mom."

They shared a smile, as much as either could manage and the needle injected with a shaky hand. Silence, then a loud gasp.

"_Why can't I breathe_?"

"You could be having an adverse reaction." Amelia paused, then quickly continued, grabbing the next of the drugs. _Oh god. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't supposed to hurt._ "I'm gonna keep going, okay? This barbiturate will depress your central nervous system."

"_Amelia_!"

"Should I keep going or should I stop?" A lump formed in her throat, a block of ice building in her chest. _What do I do? Why did I do this? Oh, god. Why did I do this? She's going to die and it's all my fault. She's going to die._ Michelle gasped again and she crawled to her side, fingers clutching at the syringe. "I don't know what that means!"

"_Stop_!"

Amelia's heart beat in her chest faster than she could handle until she thought it might explode from the pressure. Her own breath caught. "Okay! Okay! I'm stopping! It's okay, Michelle! I'm going to call 9-1-1! Michelle! It's okay! Michelle, I'm stopping!"

_Stop! _The word echoed in her mind, the hollow gasp of her best friend, dying before her eyes — dying because of her. She tried to save her, but once ejected from the hospital, the guilt ate away at her. The sadness seemed to rip her apart from the inside-out, and she realized that in all this time, she had never been able to imagine a life without Michelle. The color drained from already-pale features and tears could no longer be mustered. All energy had been sapped from her being, as if she would have died with her, if only a broken heart could truly kill.

She was dragged from a borderline-dissociative state with the knock of a door, her mind taking a few minutes to catch up to the outside world; to register its continued existence. Life on autopilot would seem her new fate. Sheldon stood before her, his string of harsh words of critique falling on near-deaf ears until at last a spark of hope.

"And if that woman _had_ died, I would have called the police!"

Eyebrows knit together across Amelia's forehead and anything else he had left to say dissipated into the air. _If she _had_ died? Michelle—_ "She didn't die? She's alive?"

"Yes. She's alive."

Everything seemed to hit all at once from then and she collapsed into her friend's arms, a wave of fresh sobs crashing over her. The guilt remained, but lessened under her relief that she now had a second chance — _Michelle_ had a second chance. She had her best friend back.

Once she got herself cleaned up, pushing away the mess of emotions cluttering her mind, it wasn't long before Amelia found her way to Michelle's hospital bed, where she stayed until the other woman was ready for discharge. It was only then the pair would be able to discuss anything more serious than how terrible hospital food tasted - even with special treatment as a friend of one of the doctors - or a debate over twizzlers versus nibs.

"Are you ready to go?" the youngest Shepherd sibling asked as she rounded the corner with a wheelchair, readying it for the other woman. Michelle nodded and promptly tried to stand, but her legs gave out and she would have fallen entirely had Amelia not reached her. "Oh, I've got you. Are you okay?"

She nodded in response, a look of shame and embarrassment flashing across her slim features. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

"Do not apologize to me." _I don't deserve it. I did this to you. _"I mean it."

"I was so sure that I wanted to die, but now I don't— I don't know. I just— I don't know if I panicked or—"

"Hey. You don't have to figure it out today. Or tomorrow, for that matter." She paused, pursing her lips together as a familiar idea circled in her mind. "I know it's not easy being alone. Your mom had you and you— You have me. I will be there the whole way. You can even move in if you want."

"I couldn't do that to you."

"You'd be helping me, too. I know it doesn't compare to what you're going through, but I struggle too. Every day."

"Pills?"

"Booze. I'm branching out." She smirked sardonically, turning away to pick up a bag of Michelle's belongings. It was embarrassing to admit that even after a decade of sustained sobriety, she had fallen off the wagon — the one fact she had planned to keep a secret from the already-struggling woman.

"I didn't know. I'm sorry."

Amelia's eyes narrowed in on her friend. "You don't have to be sorry. So we're both screwed up. But maybe we can be there for each other, like some kind of—like some kind of messed up buddy system. I won't drink today, if you don't kill yourself." She couldn't help but laugh at the thought. "Deal?"

"Deal."

Her heart soared at the thought, and she was certain she could keep herself sober for Michelle's sake. It provided her with enough relief from the overshadowing anxiety that she might be powerless to stop the other woman from killing herself that she was finally able to breathe clearly for the first time in a long time.

Michelle, however, found herself increasingly less sure of their agreement. What seemed a good idea in the moment quickly became an impossible feat. Her brain moved at warp speed, demanding immediate action taken one way or the other, and she was sure she would lose her nerve if she waited. More than anything, she refused to become her mother. That would be a fate worse than death. The pills were easy enough to find, and they were down her throat before she could bear to take another breath. She leaned back and waited.

As she walked in through the front door, Amelia could feel something was wrong, but she chose to ignore it, pushing it away as a silly fear. She rambled about the movies she had picked up, distracting herself with the idea of another movie marathon, just like in the old days. But her sentiments were met with silence, and her gut wrenched. As she turned toward the bedroom door, she stopped dead in her tracks, her expression falling.

It was feet she saw first, laying perfectly still, and she forced herself to step in further, confirming her nightmare. Her best friend lay motionless, her normally bright complexion pale and grey. A heavy sigh escaped the throat of the survivor, her eyes welling with burning tears. She was too late.

As she called for the ambulance to take away Michelle's body, the world seemed to drift into non-existence. Impulse took over as she gathered the pills still strewn about the bed, cupping them in her fist until the crowd of officers had left. Swirling her wine glass in her hand, she carefully inspected her former love in its small tablet form, lifting them gracelessly to her lips and gulping them down.

She made a feeble attempt to remind herself that what happened was not her fault, but try as she might, Amelia would never fully believe it. In retrospect, she found a million ways she could have changed what happened — a million ways to have kept Michelle alive. Even if they were nothing but fantasy, even if they probably wouldn't have worked, even if the decision had been made long before she had any say in the matter, the 'what-ifs' haunted her mind. Guilt and sorrow ate away at her until her vision blurred from a state of overwhelm, and her body turned numb.

It seemed the beginning of the end for Amelia there in her living room that night. Her world had fallen out from beneath her and her downward spiral began. No longer did she feel any sense of semblance of concern for her own well-being, as long as the pain might go away, even for a second. The drugs gave her that; a moment to breathe without feeling as if she might be crushed by her loss. She remembered now why she had never allowed herself that level of intimacy with anyone. Yet, now she craved it, and it was all-too-easy to believe she had found it in the arms of a stoned lover. She fell hard and fast for Ryan, and it would only be years later when she would question whether or not she truly loved him. But in those moments, his body gave her warmth in a time when she wanted never to be left alone. He made her forget and he made her feel, and for that, she loved him.

But their love was never to be, and she would find ways to blame herself for his demise for what she imagined would be the rest of her life — just as she would wonder with Michelle. By the year's end, she would become certain that she was altogether cursed in a string of deaths eventually tolling five and including some of the closest people in her life, and a son she was never meant to keep. All at once, her life had turned into a horror show, and she felt herself crumbling to pieces without any way of stopping the heartbreak.

But if there was one word that could describe Amelia Shepherd, it was _survivor_. She might never get over what happened — not really. How could one ever truly be _over_ the loss of a best friend, let alone a child? But she continued to breathe when she wanted to die, and eventually learned how to live again. The girl who once had been could never again completely exist. She was carted away with the body of her best friend and buried for good in the grave of her baby.

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**Reviews are always appreciated :)**


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